


Love, (Your Soulmate)

by nameless_wanderer



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Coming Out, IDK WHAT TO TAG THIS SORRY, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Spierfeld Week, Teen is for language, basically a mark on your skin becomes colorful when you and your soulmate first touch, day two of spierfeld week, fluff with a tiny bit of angst, god this description sucks but I promise its better than i make it sound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_wanderer/pseuds/nameless_wanderer
Summary: Simon Spier has kept the marcamor on the back of his hand hidden for most of his life. So when he finally sees the discolored blob has turned to the most vibrant hues, he realizes that there are three guys who could possibly be his soulmate.The good news: He's already in love with his soulmate.The bad news: He's not sure which guy it is.





	Love, (Your Soulmate)

Simon was very good at covering his marcamor. Lots of foundation and concealer and in more recent years Leah taught him how to contour so it looked natural (he didn’t know it was _possible_ to contour the back of his hand). It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say he covered it up because it looked ugly. From what he’d heard and the few he’d seen, most marks were either this inky blueish-black or this obnoxious white that stood out even on the palest of complexions, but his wasn’t either of those. It was this weird, indeterminate dull color that he couldn’t really quite describe and could never quite recreate in art class. If he had to guess, it was kind of a greyish-brown color. Of course, he was lucky he wasn’t born with that one-in-a-million mark that lets you see right through your skin and down to the muscle.

But it wasn’t really the color, it was more the societal aspect; most people didn’t leave their marks uncovered. It wasn’t rude or anything, but it was super brave as it broadcast to the world the first place your soulmates skin would touch your own. It was a strangely intimate thing that very few people could pull off leaving unconcealed. Like Abby Suso, the new girl who showed up to school on the first with short sleeves, as if proudly announcing that her soulmate was destined to grab her arm. She quickly became friends with Simon’s group, and no one was super surprised when Nick grabbed her arm at lunch to tell her something and the pale patch on her arm suddenly filled with vibrant colors, as had the one on Nick’s palm (they’d been together ever since).

Mostly, Simon just didn’t want people to know where his mark was. Even if they weren’t often seen, marcamors were talked about and it was common for friends to tell each other the approximate shape, size, and position of the mark. But Simon didn’t tell people that. The only people outside his family who knew where his mark was were Leah, Nick, and most recently, Abby. It was a strange, amorphous blob just kinda stuck on the back of his hand. He’d studied pictures of marks not unlike his when he was really young, and figured out that his soulmate would likely accidentally brush the back of his hand, either with his palm or with his fingers stuck together.

And this was the main reason for not telling people: it was a common mark. People got really weird about touching you once they knew where your mark was, and for Simon that would mean no fist bumps, no accepting objects he was holding out for them, some people would probably be paranoid and refuse to even shake hands with him. So he hid it, and he hid it well. He was no longer sensitive to anything touching the back of his hand, the way he once had been, and he rarely thought of the back of his hand as anything other than a slight inconvenience. So he didn’t think much of Taylor Metternich’s comment at first.

“What’s that on your hand?” He dumbly looked at his left hand at first (in his defense, she was standing to the left of him), but switched when he found nothing of interest. And then he saw it. The tiniest mark of pink.

Simon chuckled. “Nick got me with a highlighter earlier today. Must’ve missed a spot.” He looked at Ms. Albright. “I’m just gonna go wash this off really quickly.” She nodded as he walked through the PAC and towards the restrooms. Once in the restroom, he quickly made sure he was alone in there before promptly freaking the fuck out. When had this happened? _How_ had this happened? He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. Maybe it was just a mark from something pink. He quickly turned on the sink and began gently rubbing the mark, but it didn’t change. It wasn’t just ink. In fact the whole area on the back of his hand looked different. It looked...brighter, more exciting if you looked close.

It was his marcamor.

He wasn’t sure what to do, this was exciting and wonderful, and terrifying and worrying. He took several more deep breaths until he finally gained some clarity: he had to tell Leah. He pulled out his phone and began texting.

> LEAH! EMERGENCY! SOS!!!!! ARE YOU STILL AT SCHOOL???????
> 
> calm down there capslock
> 
> i am
> 
> what’s up?

Simon took a picture of his hand and sent it to Leah.

> where r u?
> 
> BATHROOM OUTSIDE PAC PLS HURRY!!!!

He paced around the bathroom as he waited for Leah. What was he going to do? He heard the door to the bathroom get pushed open hesitantly.

“Simon?” Leah’s voice cautiously called out. He ran to the door and pulled her in.

“Quickly, no one’s here!” He led her to the sinks before she disentangled herself.

“Si, calm down, let me see it?” He held out his hand for Leah to examine. She looked at the damage, including the bright pink mark that was clearly visible. “Alright, so I’ve seen this before, and it’s gonna be a lot harder to cover up now, but we already knew that. You’re gonna need to start using a thicker layer of foundation, you’re gonna wanna blend the edges of the mark into your skin more, though the mark itself will still look brighter to anyone who pays really close attention, so you’re gonna have to work on a more pronounced contour.”

“I still think contouring your hand is complete bullshit. What does it even do?”

“Try contouring your face sometime,” Leah deadpanned. She was really good at saying just the right dry remark to ease the tension. Leah let go of Simon’s hand and reached into her bag, pulling out some makeup stuff that Simon didn’t quite understand. “I’ll do what I can to cover it for now.” She grabbed his arm once more and began working on it.

“Thanks, Leah. You’re a lifesaver.” He sighed as she brushed and marked and dotted.

“So who is it?” Simon stared at her blankly. She looked up, amused. “You know, who is it? Your soulmate Si! God if it’s someone like Taylor Metternich—” Simon snorted.

“It’s definitely not Taylor.”

“So then who is it?”

Simon thought about it. Through all of this that was somehow the one thing he hadn’t been bothered to think about. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized something, something that he hadn’t told Leah.

So he told Leah a truth and a lie.

“I don’t know.” That was the truth.

“What do you mean you don’t know? How can you not know?”

“This could’ve happened any time today! I don’t remember every single person who accidentally brushed the back of my hand.” That was the lie. Precisely three people had accidentally touched Simon’s hand today, and he knew exactly where and when.

Bram and Simon had been reaching for the same door handle, and when Simon’s got there first Bram’s hand brushed against his. Bram had apologized and Simon had smiled and said it was fine as they both headed to class.

Simon had been walking out of fifth period, trying to carry a thousand different things when all of his papers went flying. As he worked to pick them up and shove them in his backpack, another pair of hands began picking up papers and handing them to him, accidentally grabbing Simon’s hand in the process. Simon looked up and saw Lyle, a kid who had been in his biology class the previous year (he thought). He thanked Lyle for his help and quickly walked to his next class.

Before musical rehearsal began, he was messing around on the piano. He didn’t really know how to play anything, just Heart and Soul like every other person on the planet. But Cal reached over his shoulder and began harmonizing as Cal moved down the octave, his hand overlapped with Simon’s briefly, causing Simon to mess up and the two to smile and laugh at each other as Ms. Albright called for rehearsal to start.

“Well, we gotta figure it out, Si. Don’t ya think?”

“Yeah… no! Well…” Simon then remembered the other unseen part of this equation. _Blue_. “There’s… some stuff I gotta do first.”

“Seriously?”

“Leah, trust me. I’m not gonna back out and hide forever. I just need to do some things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Leah, just trust me. I’ll start looking, just give me some time.” Leah pondered, a doubtful expression on her face. She looked down at the hand.

“Alright, I’m done.” Simon brought his hand up to look at it better. “It’s not my best work but it’ll do for today. So long as nobody grabs your hand and holds it two inches in front of their face, nobody will notice it.”

“Damn, guess I’ll just have to miss the ‘everybody grabs my hand and holds it two inches in front of their face’ scene today.”

Leah chuckled. “Get back to rehearsal, you idiot.” The two left the bathroom and Simon practically sprinted on stage.

“That took an awfully long time to wash that mark off,” Taylor Metternich said, judgemental as always.

Simon grimaced and shrugged. “Turns out it was sharpie. Wasn’t coming off.” He looked over at Abby, a mischievous smile in her eyes as if to say _we’ll talk later_. He smiled back and rolled his eyes and Ms. Albright called for the top of the scene.

* * *

 

> FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: Something’s changed
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I know there’s a lot we don’t really talk about. I mean, we talk about most stuff, but we’re pretty careful in what we don’t say. We don’t say names, or times, or places, or activities, or appearances. We have this comfortable little bubble, where we know each other without the terrifying part of actually knowing each other. And I love our bubble, and I wish we could just stay here forever.
> 
> But that’s not realistic. Because things change all the time, and we can’t just stay trapped in this little bubble; we have to grow and move beyond it.
> 
> But our little bubble is safe, it’s familiar, and we can talk about stuff, and I feel like I really know you even if I don’t know you. I feel like with every word I fall for you a little bit more.
> 
> Which is why we don’t talk about things like marcamors. But I think it’s time I told you about mine.
> 
> It’s a strange, undefined blob kind of on the back of my hand. There are no discernable finger patterns but it does seem to be hand-sized and hand-shaped. Almost every day I cover it up using some makeup skills I learned from my friends, and so nobody really sees it. On the rare occasion I don’t cover it up it’s this really weird and ugly neutral color, kinda between grey and brown I guess.
> 
> Except I’m looking at it now and it’s all kinds of vibrant pinks, and yellows, and greens, and blues. Which means today my soulmate touched me for the first time (please try to not read that as an innuendo).
> 
> I’m shaking as I’m writing this email, because I don’t want to lose you. The truth is I have no idea exactly who my soulmate is, because I didn’t notice it until late in the day and several people accidentally touched the back of my hand. And somehow I’m hoping beyond hope that you’re one of those people. That maybe we’re meant to be.
> 
> I understand if it’s not you and you don’t want to keep writing. But just know I really like you and I want to keep talking to you as long as you’ll let me.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Jacques

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: RE:Something’s changed
> 
> Dear Jacques,
> 
> I don’t want to be a cliché but I have some awesome news and some decidedly less awesome news. The good news is my marcamor is on the palm of my hand, vaguely the size and shape of part of someone else’s hand, and just yesterday it burst into a lot of colors. So I guess we’re meant to be.
> 
> Now for the bad news. See, I’m pretty sure I know who you are. I make it a point to not touch people if I can help it. I’m not really like you in that way (assuming I’ve correctly guessed who you are). I see the way you interact with your friends, and you’re so warm with each other, you’re not afraid to make contact. I guess maybe that’s just the benefit of being childhood friends and/or finding your soulmate on like the first day of school. And basically whenever I do make contact, I remember it.
> 
> I didn’t mean to touch you yesterday. And ostensibly, I’m sorry it happened. Because this means things change, and I don’t really want things to change. But if I’m being really honest with myself, I’m not actually that sorry, because (if I’m being really honest with myself) I’ve kinda had a crush on you for the longest time. I was kind of hoping it was you (again assuming I’m correct).
> 
> (And I really think I am. I really hope I am.)
> 
> And this is where the bad news comes in.
> 
> I’m asking you, I’m begging you not to look for me. I’m sorry, but I’m just not ready. I’m not ready for you to know who I am. I’m not ready for things to change so quickly. I’m not ready to be soulmates, to be openly gay. I haven’t even come out to anyone. I know I said I would try, but I’m just not ready. Could you please find it in yourself to not look for me?
> 
> I hope you don’t think less of me for asking you that. I hope you don’t think less of me for any of this.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Blue

> FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: RE:Something’s changed
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I could never think less of you.
> 
> I’m dying to know who you are, but I understand where you’re coming from. I haven’t come out to anyone either. I guess I’m gonna have to start.
> 
> Or else I’m gonna have to get a lot better at applying makeup to my hand.
> 
> Love (your soulmate),
> 
> Jacques

* * *

How the fuck do you contour a hand?

Leah had explained it once and he hadn’t begun to understand what contour even did. She had insisted it was important to sell the illusion of unmarked skin, but Simon just didn’t get it. He knew that when Leah helped him, it looked perfect. When he did it there was just something that looked strange. You had to look super closely and kinda squint at it, but it was definitely off. And now that the marcamor was _éclairé_ (as he had learned was the technical term in anatomy), it was much harder to cover up. This was a fact that he had heard repeated over and over all his life, but he didn’t realize just how different it was. He didn’t know what it was, but it was like his skin was… glowing or something. In any case what he was doing wasn’t enough. He shot a text to Leah.

> is it cool if i pick u up first today?
> 
> u need help covering ur mark
> 
> yes idk how tf to contour my hand and my skin is glowing
> 
> not in a good way
> 
> ill bring all my tools
> 
> u da best

Simon heard a knock on the bathroom door.

“This is ridiculous Simon, you don’t need to be in there this long.” Nora wasn’t wrong. He usually didn’t take this long. But usually the mark on his hand was the ugliest, easiest to disguise color in the world.

“Be out in a sec.” He quickly ran the water in the sink, hoping to give the impression of finishing up. Whatever he had been able to do wasn’t set, and it definitely wasn’t convincing. He was going to have to rush to Leah’s house. He opened the door and found Nora outside, arms subtly crossed in annoyance. “All yours.” He tried to breeze past her but she stopped him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew she saw.

“What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing, what’s wrong with _your_ hand?” he childishly retorted.

“Si—” the two struggled, the way two siblings do when one has stolen an object from the other. Eventually Nora won out, carefully examining the hand.

“Simon what— wait, that’s your mark isn’t it?” She gasped, excited. “Did you—”

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad, they’re gonna get way too excited and ask like a million questions.” He quickly retracted his arm and moved down the hall.

“Wait, who is it?” He could pretend he hadn’t heard. But he didn’t want to be that dismissive of his sister.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” He rushed down the stairs, not even bothering to stop into the kitchen for breakfast. He rushed out to the car and practically sped over to Leah’s house. She was outside in a matter of seconds, carrying an extra bag he hadn’t seen her carry before. She got into the passenger seat.

“Let me see.” He held out his hand, ashamed. “Dammit, Spier. Who taught you to contour?”

“You did.”

“In any case, you’re gonna need something a bit stronger than foundation.” She reached into the mysterious bag and pulled out what looked like a palette to Simon, as well as a slightly discolored liquid and a brush.

“What’s that?”

“Alcohol activated paint. My mom used to help her friends cover up rather noticeable marks. Give me your hand.” Leah spent the next several minutes fixing up Simon’s rather poor work. On a base level what he had done was fine, but he had done it using techniques meant to cover a dull and not super noticeable mark, and now that it was colored those didn’t quite work (Simon wasn’t sure if it had something to do with makeup or biology or what, but suffice to say it wasn’t enough).

“So Nora knows.” Leah looked up briefly. “She caught me coming out of the bathroom this morning.”

“With that mess on your hand? I’m not surprised.”

“Real assuring.”

“Anybody else know?”

“Maybe Abby. She had this look in her eyes when I came back to rehearsal, but I avoided her. I don’t really want people to know.”

“So you want to tell me who it is yet?”

“As I said before, I have no idea.”

“Surely you have to have some clue.”

“...Maybe.”

“...”

“...”

“...Well?”

“Not until I know. I wasn’t lying yesterday when I said several people touched my hand.”

“But you know who they are generally?”

“Some of them.”

“Are you going to tell me who they are?”

“Not if you keep bugging me about it.”

“It’s done.” Simon took his hand back and looked at it. It wasn’t perfect, but nobody was gonna notice it.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s get Nick and Abby.” Simon pulled out of Leah’s driveway and into Nick’s. Leah shot him a quick text and he was out of the house in a few moments.

“Hello friends,” he said getting in the car. “It’s a beautiful day for love and friendship.”

“We’re going to school,” Leah replied. “Not really much place for those things there.”

“You never know,” Nick quipped mysteriously. Simon glared at him through the rearview mirror, but left it alone. He needed to have his coffee first. They got their iced coffee (one with milk for Abby) and then drove to Abby’s house. She climbed into the car with a smile on her face.

“What’s up guys? Anything exciting going on?” As Abby closed the door and buckled her seatbelt, Simon turned around in his seat and glared at Abby.

“I can’t believe you told Nick.” The car became silent, save for the music playing from Simon’s phone.

“Told Nick what?” Abby asked innocently. Simon scoffed and turned back around, driving off.

“I didn’t want to tell anybody!”

“How are you not telling everybody?” Nick practically yelled. “Dude, this is so exciting!”

“That was a nice bus you just threw me under,” Abby remarked dryly to Nick. “Look, I’m just so happy for you! You could have a love story like me and Nick! How is that not amazing?”

“You guys just don’t understand.” It was remarkable how much Simon sounded like a moody teen right now. “At least Leah didn't tell anybody.” Leah remained quiet. Simon looked out of the corner of his eye, and Leah wasn’t looking at him. “You didn’t tell anyone, right Leah?”

“No, of course not…but I don’t understand why you’re not telling people,” she admitted.

“Unbelievable.”

“Nick and Abby are right, this is exciting, why wouldn’t you want to know everything and anything about who it is?”

“So you’re saying if you found your soulmate today and it was someone like Garrett, or worse yet Martin Addison you’d just immediately start dating them, no hesitation?”

Leah laughed indignantly. “Garrett is not my soulmate, and neither is Addison.”

“How would you know?” Simon challenged. Leah didn’t have an answer for that. Simon turned up the volume and the friends maintained a chilly silence for the rest of the ride.

* * *

> FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: ughhhhhh
> 
> Blue,
> 
> Sorry for double texting (double emailing?) but I had to talk to you. (email you)
> 
> My friends are just the worst.
> 
> Ok that’s a lie. They’re the best. But right now they’re acting like the worst. They want to know “who’s your soulmate?” “Why aren’t you excited about this?” “Why aren’t you announcing to the world that your mark is colored?” and I just uuuuuggggghhhhhhhhhhh.
> 
> You’ll have to forgive my limited vocabulary. I know you could probably find the perfect expression for how I’m feeling right now. It’s just I don’t know how to answer those questions without outing myself. And even if I could, why do they need to know? This isn’t their business. I expected this from my family, but my friends acting this way is more than I can take.
> 
> Speaking of my family, my sister knows. I told her not to tell anyone, but she’s definitely going to have more questions tonight. I dunno. I’ve been thinking I should just bite the bullet and tell her. There would be something nice about her being the first to know. Maybe. What do you think? Should I tell her? You’re always able to lend clarity to these situations.
> 
> The bell is ringing. Look forward to your answer tonight.
> 
> Love (your soulmate),
> 
> Jacques

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: RE:ughhhhhh
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> Sorry it took so long to reply to your emails. The school day is long, as you’re aware, but I was also avoiding pointing out a grammar error in your previous two emails (which I am positive you will see corrected in this one).
> 
> I’m sorry you had a rough day. In place of an elongated “ugh,” might I suggest “I just feel disgruntled,” or “incredibly annoyed,” or even “pissed off?”
> 
> I’m sorry your friends are acting the way they are. I guess they just don’t understand what you’re going through, both not knowing definitively who your soulmate is and being gay. I’ve been thinking a lot about coming out to someone too. I can’t tell you what the best option is, but you’ve inspired me. I think I’m going to tell one of my friends. He’s pretty cool about this kind of thing, and I half wonder if he doesn’t suspect something already. I’ve been acting kinda shifty around him since my marcamor bloomed.
> 
> I always thought that the terminology for marcamors was weird. The official term for once they’ve changed color is that they’re _éclairé_ which I always found a tad pretentious, boring, and misleading. It’s French for “illuminated” or “flashed” but they don’t light up. Not really. I think of them as blooming, like flower blossoms in spring. The unassuming bulbs, usually so pale or unnoticed open and reveal the most gorgeous colors. I don’t know. It’s a small nitpick, but I think language is important.
> 
> In any case, I hope you find someone you can tell soon. But if my guess about who you are is correct, I think your sister is a great first person to tell. Though I would beg you not to show her our emails… or at least not the more explicit ones.
> 
> Love,
> 
> (Your soulmate) Blue

* * *

Simon was in his room. He had been studying for a while, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was avoiding his parents. And he was especially avoiding Nora ever since he had made the decision to come out to her. Tonight. Oh boy. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and he looked to see Nora heading to her room. It was now or never.

“Nora?” She paused in front of his doorway. “Can you come in here?” She slowly stepped into his room, a coy smile on her face.

“Am I in trouble or something?”

Simon laughed. “No, no. I just wanted to thank you for not telling Mom and Dad… you know.” Nora nodded. “And for not prying and respecting my privacy. I know you think I was obscuring and stalling this morning, and, okay, I was, but I really don’t know who it is.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Simon braced himself. “I have, however, narrowed it down to three possible people.” He closed his eyes. “Would you like to see who they are?” Nora nodded enthusiastically, practically jumping on Simon’s bed. He had the three profiles pulled up. “So this is Bram. You know, Nick’s soccer friend.” He looked at Nora who leaned back the tiniest bit, confused. Simon moved on. “This is Lyle. He was in my biology class last year.” He saw her eyes widened in understanding. He moved on. “And this is Cal. He plays piano for the musical.” Nora, who just seconds before had been jittery and excited, was now thoughtful and quiet. “That’s why I don’t want to talk about. Um. I’m… I’m gay.”

Nora nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No. Yes? I’m not sure. Do you want me to be?”

“I’m not sure.” The brother and sister sat there in silence. “And um, nobody else knows yet. You’re the first I’ve told.”

She smiled at him. “Well, I’m glad you told me. And I love you, you big doofus.”

“Doofus? What are we, third graders?” Nora laughed and pushed him, and Simon pushed back. It was a nice moment.

“So tell me more about the guys.”

Simon smiled. “Well, my soulmate is the kindest, sweetest, most considerate guy in the world. He has a mastery over the english language. He’s funny when he wants to be and he’s just so amazing.”

Nora frowned. “Really? This applies to _all_ of them?”

“Nope. Just my soulmate.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know who it was.”

“I may not know which one he is, but I know who he is.” Nora looked at him, waiting for an answer. He sighed and began explaining. “So I’ve been emailing this guy. I call him Blue.”

* * *

> FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: So I did it.
> 
> Blue,
> 
> I told my sister. The nosy brat also made me tell her about the emails. I didn’t show her any of them, just kinda told her generally what they said and also how you’re probably one of three people. She wanted me to tell you something so I guess I’ll type that out now (note that her opinions do not reflect my own):
> 
> Dear “Blue,” [quotation marks hers]
> 
> This is the amazingly charming younger sister of “Jacques.” [quotation marks hers] (Sorry my brother is an idiot who chose the name “Jacques”) My brother literally does not have one bad thing to say about you. It’s kind of amazing actually. I, however, find it quite unfair that you know he who is yet he doesn’t know who you are. Do you have any idea
> 
> Okay I’m not typing all of this out, now she’s just berating you for not telling me who you are and I’m rolling my eyes. She did ask me to sign her note “love, your future sister-in-law” so I guess she doesn’t totally hate you, probably.
> 
> God I’m not sure how I feel. Relieved? Probably. Uncomfortable? Definitely. I don’t think there’s a succinct word in the English language that fully encapsulates all of the emotions of coming out and being accepted like this. I’m not even happy or anything, it’s just…
> 
> I wish I knew as many words as you.
> 
> Love,
> 
> (Your soulmate) Jacques (and his annoying little sister)
> 
> P.S. I caught my mistake

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: RE:So I did it.
> 
> Jacques,
> 
> I know how you feel. I also came out to my friend. He was super supportive (if a tad enthusiastic). I’m actually inclined to agree with your sister though; it is unfair because I accidentally told my friend about our emails too (sorry), and now two people know who you are while you’re still clueless about exactly who I am. But I do appreciate you understanding. I think I’ll be ready one day, and sooner rather than later.
> 
> If I had to guess, based on your description and my own experience, the word you’re looking for, the one that describes how you feel after coming out is “free.”
> 
> Love,
> 
> Blue (your soulmate)
> 
> P.S. There are multiple ways to fix that mistake :)
> 
> P.P.S. Tell Nora I’m excited to get to know my future sister-in-law better.

* * *

It was official. Blue knew exactly who he was. Simon knew that the last line of that email was meant to be playful and charming (which it was), but it also came out as taunting. Because Simon did want to know who Blue was. He’d wanted them to know each other from the start. He’d wanted Blue to know who he was.

But Blue didn’t want him to know his identity.

Simon sat down for lunch next to Abby at their normal lunch table, across from Nick and Leah. They were joined today by Garrett (who sat on the other side of Abby) and Bram (who sat next to Nick). Things had been kinda weird since the car ride yesterday, and he was glad to have the extra company, if only to make things less awkward. And the lunch seemed to be going as fun and cordially as usual when Abby got his attention.

“So we were thinking about ways to find your soulmate,” she whispered. Simon scoffed and shook his head.

“This again? No, just drop it.”

“Simon, come on,” Nick groaned. “I mean, the love of your life is out there, wandering the halls, and you’re telling me you’re not even a tiny bit interested in finding out who she is?” Leah smacked Nick’s arm with the back of her hand.

Simon stared at him, mouth open and brow furrowed in disgust. “Go ahead, announce it to the world why don’t ya? This is a cafeteria, Nick. There are people all around us. Garrett and Bram are _literally_ sitting right next to us, and you basically just told them when I said I didn’t want people to know.” Simon quickly turned to Bram and Garrett. Garrett was staring right at Simon, while Bram didn’t look up at all. “Not that you guys aren’t awesome, you are, I’m just… it’s a whole thing.” He noticed Bram subtly clenching a fist.

“We’re just curious, is all, Simon,” Leah said gently.

“And we’ll keep it down,” Abby murmured. “So I was thinking we could look on social media for girls who posted about their marcamor’s recently.”

It was the word _girls_ that really upset Simon here. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

“Yeah, dude,” Nick started. “I told her we should start looking at girls’ hands—”

Why was straight the default? “Oh my god shut up!” Simon did everything he could to not shout it. He looked around, and when he was confident nobody was paying attention to him he continued. “This is _my_ thing. Not yours. _My_ thing. Can’t you just let it be my thing?” The others at the table stared at him. They all looked uncomfortable. Bram clutched his fist tighter. “You know, not everybody is gonna be as excited as you two,” Simon said, staring at Nick and Abby. “People are going to find out their soulmate is not their crush, and people are gonna find out that they kinda fucking hate their soulmate, and people are gonna find out that their soulmate is not at all who they thought. And you’re gonna have to accept that and realize not everybody is as bold and comfortable with this as you. But no, you’re just stuck inside your happy little bubble of love where it’s okay to mess with your friend’s life as long as he finds his soulmate because of it, or whatever. Can’t you just let me process it myself? It’s supposed to be _my_ thing. Can’t you just…” Simon sighed and rolled his eyes. He picked his backpack up off the floor and stood up. “Whatever. I’ll see you guys later.” He looked around the table. Only Bram didn’t meet his eyes. And honestly he was too frustrated to make anything of that.

He walked out of the cafeteria and toward the library. He went towards the back, towards a particularly odd section of nonfiction, graphic novels, and encyclopedias. He began looking at the book covers. Really he just needed to distract himself.

“Simon,” a familiar voice called out. He turned his head and saw Lyle smiling at him. He smiled back.

“Hey.”

“What are you here for, nonfiction or graphic novels?”

“Actually, I’m here for the encyclopedias,” he joked. Lyle nodded. “Yeah, ‘P’ changed my life. Prairies, parsley, pterodactyl.” Lyle chuckled. “Nah, I’m just… looking for a book. Prob’ly not in this row though.”

“Yeah, this library is kinda disorganized.” Simon smirked. “Actually, I’m kinda glad I ran into you.”

Simon’s heart began beating faster. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I been meaning to ask you something, but I just never had the time or courage…” Simon nodded, heart pounding in his ears. Could this be the moment he met Blue? “What’s Abby Suso’s deal?” And just like that, his heart stopped. “You’re friends with her, right?”

“Unambiguously dating her soulmate, Nick.”

“Ah, damn. The hot ones are always taken. I mean, I could never be friends with someone that hot.” Simon nodded uncertain.

“Uh-huh… I should—I should really find this book. I’ll see you later, Lyle.” Lyle looked a tad confused, but smiled and nodded as Simon moved to the next shelf over.

So it wasn’t Lyle.

* * *

Abby approached him before rehearsal began.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“So… look, we all want to apologize. We’re sorry. I’m _really_ sorry. You were right. This is your thing, and we were just so excited we were trying to make it ours. Anyway, we wanted to take you Waffle House after this to properly apologize.” Despite his best effort, the corner of Simon’s mouth tilted upward.

“My one weakness: breakfast food.” Abby laughed and the two sat down on the edge of the stage.

“We didn’t realize how insensitive we were being. Bram left at lunch after we wouldn’t drop it.” Simon stared, curious. “Garrett chewed us out, said that Bram was born without one and he didn’t like talking about it.” So it wasn’t Bram. Did that mean…? “I don’t think we realized that not every story was going to be like mine and Nick’s. I mean, we got crazy lucky. We met, we liked each other and then we were soulmates. We went straight from infatuation to happily ever after, and we didn’t realize not everybody’s colors get to burst like that.” The two seemed unaware that several other pairs of eyes were on them now.

“Are you guys talking about marcamors?” Taylor interrupted. Simon wanted to roll his eyes, but just barely managed to resist the temptation. “You really did get lucky, Abby. You had such a common mark, it was bound to happen eventually.” Taylor turned around and pulled down the collar of her shirt, revealing a strange dark oval in the middle of her right collar. “Based on what evidence I can find, my soulmate is going to hug me and his chin will accidentally catch my back. Meaning that I’m probably gonna know my soulmate pretty well before we meet. And the anticipation with every hug I get kind of kills me.” It was a weirdly vulnerable moment for Taylor. Simon was kinda surprised she wasn’t trying to turn it into a brag. “Lots of people have weird marks.” She turned to look at the piano. “Cal, what’s your marcamor?” Cal seemed unsurprised by this question. Simon wondered if he had been listening in.

“Taylor!” Simon chastised.

“You can’t just ask someone that,” Abby finished.

“No, guys, it’s fine,” Cal said. He stood up and lifted his shirt a bit, revealing an inky black closed handprint on the side of his body’s, about where his kidney would be. He kinda laughed. “Yeah, good luck figuring _that_ one out.” So it wasn’t Cal. And suddenly Simon was more confused than before.

“So, Simon, where’s yours?” Taylor asked, a condescending tone.

“Dude, seriously?” Abby commented to Taylor. But Simon smirked.

“I was born without one. I’m cursed to not have a soulmate,” he deadpanned. He noticed Taylor glancing down at his hand, but only for an instant.

“Fine, don’t tell us. I guess it’s not our business.”

* * *

There was a delicious plate of waffles before Simon and he didn’t feel like eating a single bite. What was the world coming to?

SImon sat inside the booth with his head in his hand, kinda staring down at the table and kinda staring out the window. He had been wrong. How had he been wrong? He was positive nobody else had touched him. Nobody could’ve, nobody would’ve gotten the chance. But it wasn’t any of the people it could possibly be. How was that possible?

“Dude, are you still mad at us?” He looked up at Nick, who was sitting right across from him. “Cause, like, we’re really sorry, and we’ll do anything for you to not be mad at us.”

“Are the waffles not good?” Abby asked. “Do you wanna get something else? We’ll pay for it.”

“Are you contemplating the inevitable failure of capitalism and the downfall of our country into a fascist dictatorship? ‘Cause I don’t know what to say.”

Of course it was Leah’s comment that got him to smile.

“No, I’m not mad, the waffles are fine, and our inevitable doom is scary but I’m not particularly worried about it right this second.” He sighed. “I don’t know who it is.” The others looked at him, confused. “My soulmate. I don’t know who it is.”

“Yeah… you told me that before,” Leah said.

“No, it’s… there were three possible soulmates, three people it could’ve been. I was sure it was one of them. And then I found out one by one that it couldn’t possibly be any of the three of them. I was so positive.” Simon shifted. He stared down at his plate of waffles. “I dunno. We probably just brushed hands in the hallway or something. I really have no clue.” He felt Leah’s hand on his back, and the reassurance just made him feel stranger. “There were three _guys_ it could’ve been.” He wasn’t quite sure why he said it. But the second he did, he knew he couldn’t undo it. “I’m gay. That’s why I didn't want to tell you guys. Because I wasn’t ready to come out.” Simon could see the other three in his periphery as they glanced around the table.

“Have you told anybody else?” Leah finally asked.

“Just Nora. You’re the only four who know.”

“How long have you known?” Nick asked.

“I dunno. Since I was thirteen I guess?”

“Wow,” Nick whispered.

“Are you surprised? Or angry?”

“What?” Abby asked, incredulous. “No. Of course not. We love you, and we’re here for you.” Suddenly Leah pulled Simon closer into a hug.

“Sorry if we pressured you, dude,” Nick said, a tad sheepish.

“I’m glad you told us,” Leah said. “Because now we can actually help you find him. If you want us to.”

Simon shrugged. “What if he doesn’t want to be found?”

* * *

> FROM: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: Call me Britney Spears...
> 
> ...Because oops, I did it again. I came out to my three closest friends tonight. I didn’t plan it, it just kinda slipped out. I think it went alright. And I think you were right about that word.
> 
> Free.
> 
> But I have a confession: I accidentally lied when I said I thought I knew who you were. Because all of my guesses were wrong.
> 
> I promise, I wasn’t looking for you intentionally, and I wouldn’t blame you for not believing me given my track record, but I swear to god I wasn’t. I just kinda accidentally found out stuff about the three people I thought you were. And you’re not any of them.
> 
> Your guess, however, was right on the money. I guess I’m not that subtle at describing my life, even when I do leave out names. Nora says hi back, and to tell you she really wants to know who you are. She’s kinda disappointed you’re not any of the three guys. I told her to zip it.
> 
> If I’m being honest, I kind of agree with her now. Please believe me when I say I totally get why you don’t want me to know, I really do. But it’s really unfair, because at least before we were on some equal ground. You probably knew who I was, and I probably knew who you could be. But now, you know. You definitely know, and so does your friend. And now I have no clue, because every single person I thought it could be was wrong. I don’t know who you are.
> 
> But that’s a lie, too. Because I do know you. I just don’t know your name or what your face looks like. I know you’re funny, and crazy smart, and you choose your words carefully and they’re always perfect. So I’m willing to wait however long it takes for you to feel ready.
> 
> Because I don’t care that you’re not Lyle. I don’t care that you’re not Bram. I don’t care that you’re not Cal.
> 
> Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I hope one day you feel comfortable enough to let me tell that to your face.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Simon (your soulmate)

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: frommywindow1@gmail.com
> 
> SUBJECT: RE:Call me Britney Spears…
> 
> Simon,
> 
> I’m sending this to you right now, pretty much as the final bell is ringing because I know you won’t get a chance to read this email any time soon. And my heart is pounding.
> 
> Because one of those assumptions in your second to last paragraph is wrong.
> 
> And you’re about to find out which one.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Your Soulmate

* * *

Nick had invited his friends to come watch soccer practice. Leah rolled her eyes but agreed, and Abby was excited to watch Nick on the one day they had off, so he figured _why not?_

He didn’t really _get_ soccer practice. He was happy to support Nick, but he didn’t quite get the appeal of watching it the way Abby seemed to like watching it. He tailed Abby and and Leah for a little bit, who mostly walked up and down the soccer field, gradually following the motions of the team. He’d quickly gotten bored of this and decided to sit down at the edge of the field, a few feet before it became the track. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on the ground behind him for support, still actively cheering like Leah and Abby when Nick did something impressive. Only a few minutes passed before he saw one of the players grab his water bottle and run towards him. Bram. He smiled as he slowly approached Simon. “Mind if I sit with you for a sec?” Simon smiled and nodded back.

“Sure.” Bram sat down next to him, legs outstretched for a well-deserved break. The two sat in silence, undisturbed for a few minutes. And then Simon had to ask.

“Why aren’t you sitting on the benches?” Bram turned to him, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Why aren’t _you_ sitting on the benches?”

“I dunno, I thought they were only for soccer players or something. I don’t know how soccer rehearsal works.” Bram stifled laughter.

“Did you say soccer _rehearsal_?” Simon’s cheeks became red as he realized his mistake.

“Shut up, I’m a theater kid!” he replied in jest. Bram burst into laughter. “Yeah, no, that’s not a good excuse.” Simon turned to look at Bram. “I’m just a moron, sometimes.” Bram slowly rocked back and forth, arms resting on his knees and a pensive look on his face.

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you’re pretty smart, Simon.”

“Oh, really? Do you have any evidence to support that statement?” Bram shrugged.

“Simon says.” Simon tilted his head, unsure how to respond. Bram looked at him. “They call it _Jacques a dit_ in French, right?” For the first time ever (probably), Simon saw the inside of Bram’s palm. He had tried to conceal it, but close examination revealed a vibrancy and color hidden just under the surface. Simon looked at him, a joyful feeling bubbling in his stomach.

“It’s you.” Bram grinned back at Simon.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Nora’s gonna be pleased as punch.” Bram giggled slightly at this. “So you told…”

“Garrett.” Simon looked up to see the boy staring at him across the field. He gave a small but friendly wave, and the boy responded with a quick smile and a thumbs up at Bram. “Why did you think it wasn’t me?”

“Apparently after you left the lunch table, Garrett told my idiot friends that you were born without a mark and didn’t like talking about it.”

“And they believed that?”

“They bought it, hook line and sinker. They even convinced me of it.”

“Are you upset it’s me?”

Simon shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“The others are gonna be so obnoxious about this.”

“Do you really wanna tell them?”

“...Maybe we’ll wait a bit. Make them guess.”

Simon looked around. Everyone was distracted. But he knew Bram wasn’t out yet.

“I wanna hold your hand.” Bram turned to him, a wide smile on his face.

“So hold it.” Simon reached over and grabbed Bram’s hand. A feeling of exhilaration washed over him, unmatched by any burst of color on his skin. It was happy, and exciting, and uncertain.

And free.

**Author's Note:**

> These Spierfeld week prompts are supposed to be drabbles, how do I keep turning them into weirdly long oneshots? I hope you liked this, I appreciate kudos and comments (even if im godawful at replying), and thanks for reading. ok, bye.


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